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handsome-edvard · 28 days

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johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when there's you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

#chile two paragraphs in I’m fucking hollering at the fact that he drinks THRU the balaclava #bitch whatttt??? 😂😂#I love it #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #read this #cod smut

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handsome-edvard · 28 days

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What if it’s not a hand tremor in the way we’ve been thinking about it? What if it’s the fact that Hemlock couldn’t fully brainwash Crosshair but something partially worked on his hand?

#what if I just screamed??#what if? I cried?#crosshair #Hemlock has a weird thing with his own hand #is it a coincidence that Crosshair’s trigger hand is messed up?#GUYS?#the bad batch #when clone X (the captured one) called Crosshair his brother his hand shook so much!#get me outta here

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handsome-edvard · 28 days

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This is my favorite of all his facial expressions

Star Wars: The Bad Batch 3.09 The Harbinger

#😂😂😂#he was like uhhh perdona?? I ain’t say that shit…YOU did #crosshair #tbb spoilers #and the fact that he’s the only one who has his gun lmaoooo #he’s really such a sniper oml

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handsome-edvard · 28 days

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I'm watching dune for the first time and I googled "is dune a star wars fanfiction" only to find out star wars is a dune fanfiction. Wtf why didn't yall say anything about this

#I remember doing this when it came out cause girl what?#a bitch had no idea smh

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handsome-edvard · 29 days

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i know i said i'll change the url to earlgodwin just when s3 comes out but to be quite honest i couldn't resist so...new era 🙏

#I really kept calling this man Juan the whoooole two seasons 😭#vikings valhalla #earl godwin

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handsome-edvard · 29 days

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Nice to meet you! 😊

Hi there! You can call me Lil. I'm in my early 30s and my pronouns are she/her. This blog is dedicated to Star Wars content, mostly Clone Wars/The Bad Batch.

About Me

I majored in traditional art in college and have recently started learning digital art as well.

I love anything to do with flowers, plants, and gardening.

I enjoy reading and writing poetry. A lot of the inspo for my art and writing comes from poetry.

I'm a painful perfectionist when it comes to my pet projects.

I'm married to a huge Star Wars fan whose knowledge, esp. for EU/Legends stuff, far exceeds my own. He's the one who got me to watch The Clone Wars years ago when I said the animation was too ugly. 😅 (It still is in those early seasons; I'm sorry.)

I'd love to make friends on Tumblr, so always feel free to leave asks, comments, or message me.

Masterlist

My art is all tagged as "#the little moment art".

The tag I use for my writing, which is also being added periodically to My Ao3, is "#the little moment writes".

I'm currently working on two main fics:

"Not Just the Carcass, But the Spark", which is an Echo fic,

Part One - Home

Part Two - Regrets

Part Three - Consequence

Part Four - Lost

Part Five - Dreams

Part Six - Heat

Part Seven - Fragile

Here's art for "Carcass" too: There's Never Been a Time

And

"Only What Burns You Back", which is an AU of "Carcass" that focuses on Crosshair.

Part One - Out From Under Our Feet

Part Two - Loss

Part Three - Changed

Part Four - Only Smoke

Part Five - The Sniper and the Surgeon

Part Six - Memories

Part Seven - Through the Heart

Part Eight - Choices

Both fics feature my OC, Senna, who is my profile pic. You can click "#dr divehdi" below to see everything related to her, including art.

Febuwhump 2024

Day 6: Broken Promises

Day 8: Love Sees Not with the Eyes

Other Works

Lunch with Clone Command (Senna meets with some of her friends from the first clone command class. It doesn't take long for things to turn ugly.)

The Quiet Part (An injury brings Crosshair back to Kamino, where he says more than he means to.)

A Small Visit (Four years after she was first hired as part of the Republic's secret cloning project on Kamino, Dr. Senna Divehdi is surprised by a late night visit from one of her favorite cadets.)

A Tender Memorial (Dr. Senna Divehdi, Chief Medical Officer of the GAR, reflects on her time with the clone soldiers of the Republic.)

In Another Life (Crosshair can't face his family after all they've been through, especially what happened to Tech on Eriadu. Even though his brother is now recovered from his injuries and living happily with his fiancée on Pabu, Crosshair's guilt forces him away from the others. In an attempt to maintain their life-long connection, Senna moves away from the rest of their family, knowing it's the only way she can still see Crosshair. This fic is an AU of "Carcass".)

The Dress (Echo has never had an opinion on flowers, never even really noticed them, until now.)

Braided Together (A collection of hair stories featuring OC Senna and the Bad Batch.)

The Embers at the End (Eleven years after the end of the Clone Wars, Sergeant Char, one of the last remaining Imperial clone troopers, is forced to trust a traitor when he and his brother have nowhere else to turn. This fic takes place in the "Carcass" universe."

#read this #dr divehdi #masterlist #the bad batch fanfiction

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handsome-edvard · 29 days

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Part 1

In Another Life ~ A Crosshair Fanfiction 🪔

Words: 2,286

Warnings: Smoking

Summary: Crosshair can't face his family after all they've been through, especially what happened to Tech on Eriadu. Even though his brother is now recovered from his injuries and living happily with his fiancee on Pabu, Crosshair's guilt forces him away from the others. In an attempt to maintain their life-long connection, Senna moves away from the rest of their family, knowing it's the only way she can still see Crosshair.

This fic is an AU of "Not Just the Carcass, But the Spark", set in the future. It is not the same universe as "Only What Burns You Back".

Because I'm With You 🪔

Senna opened the window and lifted her leg over the sash, grunting as she pulled herself out onto the fire escape. From his perch on the narrow stairs, Crosshair turned to look at her. He lowered the cigarette from his mouth. “Coming out here to fuss at me?”

“No. I was coming out here to sit with you.” The doctor waited until he shifted over to join him on the metal step.

They sat quietly for a moment, looking out over the lower roofs around them. The sun was just rising and the morning air was cool. Autumn was on the way. Senna glanced down at the cigarette in the sniper’s long fingers, sighing internally. She really did hate that he smoked now, but it wasn’t very surprising. They both had their demons.

Crosshair looked at her pointedly, then took another drag, letting the smoke drift out of his straight, narrow nose before he stubbed it out on the railing. “Happy?”

“I don’t know how you deal with the smell.”

“You get used to it.”

That made the doctor smile slightly as she looked down at his now empty hand. She reached out and took it, and Crosshair let her fold their fingers together. He let her do a lot of things these days that he wouldn’t have before. Senna understood. Everything that they had now felt fragile.

Crosshair would come and visit her with no warning, staying for a day, or a week. Then he’d leave again, just as suddenly. At first, he’d slept on her couch. Then Senna had coaxed him into the spare bedroom. But after one night, when she’d walked past to hear him in the throes of another nightmare, Senna had lain down next to him and stayed until morning. They’d never spoken of it but, from then on, Crosshair stayed in her room, in her bed, even though they did nothing but hold each other when the terrors came.

Senna had woken that morning to find Crosshair already gone, although there were signs that he hadn’t really left yet. His wallet and blaster were lying on her dresser, next to a small tray of her jewelry, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. The black duffel bag he always brought was still in the corner by her closet door. So he’s smoking outside. She’d sighed as she’d pulled on a sweater, heading to the window to join him.

Crosshair ran his thumb over the doctor’s smaller fingers. “You been doing okay?”

Senna leaned into his shoulder and watched as the old man in the next building let his cat onto the balcony, the one with the damaged ear that reminded her of Wrecker. “You know how it is.”

It was always this way. Crosshair would come when he knew it was safe, although that really only meant when he knew no one else was there. His siblings. Not that Senna saw them as often as she wanted to anymore. Tech and Phee had stayed on Pabu. Echo was with Rex and his clone rebels. Wrecker had a long term girlfriend that he’d brought to meet Senna, but they spent most of their time near her family in the Outer Rim or back on Pabu with Tech. Hunter and Omega had a home there too, but they were currently on a year-long trip together. Senna missed them all almost more than she could bear but, for a long time now, Crosshair had been her priority. And she knew he would only come if she was away from the others. That meant this apartment, in a quiet town on a quiet planet in the Mid Rim.

He’d come last night, knocking because he knew it scared her when he let himself in. They’d eaten dinner together, almost shyly, and then gone to bed. It was always the next day when they talked. Senna was used to it now. Used to seeing him in softer clothing instead of armor or fatigues. Used to the way he’d leave while she was asleep so he didn’t have to say goodbye.

She didn’t know if this was healing, but it was better than letting go. She had promised him, in that cell on Weyland, that she would never let him go. They had taken him from her then. Now she was giving herself to him, in every way she knew how, desperate to make up for what they had lost.

“How have you been?”

Crosshair looked down at her, then away, giving Senna a view of the way his hair curled gently around the scar above his ear. She reached up to brush it softly, waiting for his reply.

“Fine.”

“Your job?”

“Also fine.” He glanced down again to catch the doctor rolling her eyes. “What do you want me to say? Life’s perfect. The job’s perfect. I have everything I could possibly want and more.” Crosshair smirked as Senna turned a mild glare on him.

“Everything could be in absolute flames and you wouldn’t tell me.”

“You’d smell the smoke.”

“I do smell the smoke,” she muttered and Crosshair huffed a laugh.

“There are worse things than cigs, Sen.”

Senna didn’t want to rehash it with him. He already knew how she felt. She knew smoking was a comfort to him, and it seemed unfair to force him to give it up when she had nothing to offer in its place. I would if you’d stay. We could make things better.

Still, it hurt her to know he was hurting himself. “There are better things than cancer.”

Crosshair took his hand out of hers and stood, reaching down to pull her up. “Not gonna live that long anyway.”

Back inside, he brewed a pot of caf while the doctor made breakfast. “I haven’t been here in a month and you’re telling me nothing’s new?”

Senna turned to look at the sniper as she stirred their eggs. “Is my life just not exciting enough for you?”

“Your life’s not exciting enough for anyone.” Crosshair chuckled as he caught the salt shaker the doctor threw at his head.

Senna bit back a barbed comment. I’m here because of you. For you. And I haven’t seen you in a month. “What ‘new’ were you hoping for?”

Crosshair took the plate of eggs she handed him and set it on the counter with the rest. “I don’t know. A pet? A plant? I told you last time you should get out more, but I get the feeling that isn’t happening.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Senna looked affronted as she sat next to him at the counter.

“Everything in your closet is extremely boring.”

“Crosshair!” Senna fought the urge to stab him with her fork as the sniper smiled into his caf. “First of all, my clothes are not boring. And, second of all, stay out of my things!”

“Your closet was open. Besides, I’m right, aren’t I?”

The doctor sighed deeply. “Why do you want me to get out so badly?”

Crosshair shrugged as he helped himself to more toast. “Meet new people. Maybe someone who’d keep you from being so lonely here.”

Senna stared at him. “I’m not…”

The sniper lifted a skeptical eyebrow, knife scraping against the dry bread as he buttered it. “You are.”

Heat rose in Senna’s cheeks as she looked down at her plate. Of course she was lonely, but that didn’t mean she wanted to go find someone at a bar. Considering the fact that she was still wanted by the Empire, she tried to spend as little time with strangers as possible, unable to shake her paranoia even after these few non eventful years.

“It’s not like you’ve found someone," she said stubbornly, still looking at her unfinished eggs. "And you do get out." Then, a thought hit her, and the doctor raised her eyes to Crosshair's with an air of suspicion, tapping her fork against her plate. “Unless, of course, you have and you’re just not telling me.”

Crosshair's face was mild, the corner of his mouth lifted just a hair. “What makes you think that’s what I want?”

He said it with no tone at all, but the words hurt her all the same. “I just want you to be happy,” Senna said quietly, standing and taking her plate to the sink. When she turned back from scraping it, Crosshair was still watching her over the counter.

“What makes you think I’m unhappy?” he asked, with a crooked smile to soften the obvious. When Senna dropped her eyes to the sink, Crosshair stood and came around to hug her. “It’s not your fault, Sen," he said quietly as he pulled the doctor gently towards him. "Being here with you makes me happy. Why do you think I keep coming back?”

Senna swallowed a sniff against his chest, disappointed in the tears she felt coming. “To make fun of my clothes?” If I make you so happy, why won’t you stay? He didn’t owe her anything, it was just… Every time he left, she was afraid he’d never come back, just as she’d been during the war.

A laugh rumbled beneath her ear. “You make it too easy. I’ve seen nuns with better style.”

Crosshair watched Senna lazily from his reclined position on her couch as she strung small, colorful lights around the apartment for the impending Dipa Utsaava celebration, the Lights Festival, a tradition from her mother's home planet. The others would be coming in a few days. That meant it was almost time for him to leave.

In bed the night before, while he listened to the doctor sleep, the thought had come again, that this was as close to happy as he’d ever be. That this was what he really wanted. But Crosshair had pushed it away, the same as every time before. He needed Senna to find someone else, someone who was good for her and would take care of her. He needed the choice to be taken out of his hands. Because every time he left it was harder. And everytime he held her in the dark it was easier.

The sniper was shaken from his thoughts as Senna materialized next to him, holding up a shining holo disc with a smile that was just a little threatening. “It is time for the annual tradition,” she intoned as Crosshair groaned dramatically, pulling his hand out from behind his head to press it to his eyes.

“Maker preserve us,” he grumbled.

Senna laughed as she stuck the disc into the holoplayer on the low console in front of the couch. “You know you love it.”

Crosshair frowned as the title of the movie appeared on the large vidscreen mounted on the opposite wall. “I think it actually gets worse every year.” He turned his scowl on the doctor as she forced him to sit up so she could join him on the couch. “I can't believe you're not saving this for the others.”

He received an innocent look in return. “I’m perfectly capable of watching my favorite holo twice so you don’t miss out.”

The source of Crosshair's pain was a cheesy holiday romance that Senna had first shown him and his brothers when they visited her at the army base on Coruscant, a lifetime ago. Crosshair found it atrocious, but there was something almost nostalgic about the predictable plot and idiotic characters after all this time. Wrecker, of course, had loved it from the beginning, and found far too many opportunities to squeeze awful quotes from it into daily conversation.

Crosshair tried not to think about his brothers while he sat with the doctor. About the way Tech had picked apart every plot hole until Senna had yelled at him to hush. Or about the way Hunter had fallen asleep halfway through and continued to do so during every successive viewing. The year Echo had joined them, there had been no Dipa celebration with Senna, but Wrecker had forced their new brother to sit through the vid on the Marauder, with Tech later noting that the harrowing experience had been his true induction into the squad.

Crosshair smiled faintly at the memory of Echo’s ire, but it soon fell away. None of that mattered anymore. They’d all be here in a few days and he’d be gone. That was just the way things were now. The way they had to be.

Crosshair winced as the couple on the screen kissed, narrowing his eyes when he caught Senna smirking at him. “What?”

“I know that’s your favorite part,” the doctor chuckled, turning back to the screen. “I always like to watch you see it.”

“I don’t know how they manage to make it look so unappealing,” he muttered darkly. Senna just smiled as Crosshair turned to watch her instead. He thought she looked especially soft tonight, her hair loose and still damp from her shower. It had been years since he’d seen her in uniform, but that was still how he imagined her, in a starched white jacket or scrubs. He wondered, if anyone saw the two of them now, would they be able to tell what they’d used to be? Was there still something in the way they held themselves, an air? Not just Crosshair and Senna, but the most deadly sniper in the Grand Army and its chief medical officer, a decorated vice-admiral. Not likely, he thought, as the movie finally ended.

Senna sighed contentedly and rested her head against Crosshair’s shoulder. “Happy Dipa, dear.”

A snarky response rose to his lips, but Crosshair paused, shifting to wrap his arm around her instead. “Happy Dipa, Sen.”

Because I’m with you.

Taglist: @just-here-with-my-thoughts @bad-batch-lurker @lightwise @freesia-writes @kybercrystals94

#in another life #dr divehdi #really loved reading this 🥹❤️❤️#the bad batch fanfiction

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handsome-edvard · 29 days

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it's so interesting to see people weighing anchor with Ventress and Crosshair after he helps her on the Marauder, but to some of these same people TechPhee despite 4 episodes of direct interactions is 'rushed'.

almost like there's a fundamental difference. wonder what it could be!

#HAHAHAH RACISM #lmaoooo duh #Phee is a dark skinned black woman with freeform dread locs

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handsome-edvard · 30 days

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When He'd Bring Me Blueberries

Woke up this morning thinking about summertime, when days lasted for weeks.

Mountains rose capped with ice and snow and blew crisp air toward us across the bay.

Brilliant red, pink, magenta, purple, and blue splash across the landscape. The fireweed are the tellers of time.

The higher up the stalk the fireweed blooms, the closer you are to winter. Because in the fall flurries of cottony seeds, played havoc on my sinuses. Then it lays down, and tells nothing else, leaving its progeny to take up the mantle of the time keepers.

In the summer of 2015, he was another roommate in a house full of people which included my brother, his (ex-boy?)friend and his girlfriend, her grandmother, and Him.

Sometimes, he'd bring frozen blueberries from Safeway. He didn't know how much I loved them.

In the early days, we'd stay at home. In the damp grass and the muddy undergrowth of the backyard, we'd look for things that had been lost in winter's heavy blanket.

Sometimes, we'd go and get lost in the woods. We'd forget about civilization. We'd forget that time is demarcated in seconds, minutes, hours.

He'd go with me to scope out the best blueberry spots around town.

Thorny brambles grabbed at our clothes and indelibly etched the memory on the skin of elbows, and wrists, and hands.

Raspberries heavy and red and perfectly ripe, hung in cool breezes off the glaciers.

Fingers were stained purple, blue, and red as berries were picked at the perfect moment, covered by the light, misting rain that sometimes never seemed to end.

The juicy burst across the tongue was sweet, tangy. If they had been left on the branch even a second longer it would have been too long. The flavor was rich enough to run along your tongue and tingle at the back of your throat.

Sometimes, he'd bring me fresh blueberries. By then, he knew they were my favorite.

I look at pictures of us in those days and I wonder what would have happened if we had met at a different time in our lives.

He was fresh out of a long relationship. I was grieving and learning what my life would look like without my husband.

At the risk of poisoning everyone, I'd sometimes help him make dinner.

He was chopping chicken. I was washing dishes, not trustworthy with actual food prep.

He made some remark that didn't need to be said out loud, even if it were true.

I dripped soapy water across the back of his neck.

He bumped my hip with his.

With soapy fingers, I poked his cheek to get at an eyelash that was definitely there, and not something I thought I saw or made up because touching him always felt so very good.

He turned toward me, with slimy, chicken hands. He reached for my face. I grabbed his wrists.

He stepped forward, much much closer than he needed to be. effectively cancelling out the power of the leverage his arms had before. Bending at the elbows, until I started to lean back.

I was pinned to the counter behind me.

I often wonder, did I see that look in his eyes? Was he seeing something in mine?

He leaned closer.

My son started to cry, so he stepped back. I dropped his wrists.

We never danced the salmonella samba again. My heart was too heavy with other things to accept the levity he offered.

The family wondered what was going on between us. They asked us several times, separately and together. Neither one of us had an answer.

So, he held me at night while I cried, heartsick and missing my husband. And that, too has a special place in my summer memories.

And in August, he always brought me blueberries.

#nostalgia #literally the most beautiful thing ever #love the pictures too #for some reason it brought that song to my mind #❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️#Spotify

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handsome-edvard · 1 month

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"he's beautiful your honor"

"he's committed so many-"

"I said he's BEAUTIFUL"

#your honor 😭 I love him

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handsome-edvard · 1 month

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Literally Ventress in s3e9

“You homo sapiens and your guns.”

#I hollered magneto!! 😂 she owned all three of them #the bad batch spoilers

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handsome-edvard · 1 month

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Someone please for the love of God take Crosshair shopping

#this man’s been in that same old armor forever and that’s after he took off the ugly ass outfit Omega stole for him #so they WOULDNT be walking around in PRISON CLOTHES #y’all please #asking for all the Crosshair wives #the bad batch #Crosshair #the bad batch spoilers

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handsome-edvard · 1 month

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GUYS

#screaming crying shaking throwing UPPPPP!!!!!#the walking dead #the walking dead spoilers

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handsome-edvard · 1 month

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Thanks for the tag! Your concept of romance is giving space travel and bad bitches uniting 🫡

Show your 4 favorite ships and let your mutual assume what your concept of romance is (or just tell us in the tags? I did lol)

Here are my favorite ships 🥹

Robinwest - Don & Judy / Lost in Space

ShadyMariah - Shades & Mariah / Luke Cage

Taylor and Mira / Terra Nova 😭

BinJin (these 2 got married irl after making this show😭) - Yoon Seri & Ri Jeong Hyeok / Crash Landing on You

Tagging @somewhat-intelligent @snailsandpuppy-dogtails @deagle @gangstertogangster if you wanna!

Favorite Ships

Thanks for tagging me, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Show your 4 favorite ships and let your mutuals assume what your concept of romance is💖

1. Will Riker and Deanna Troi

2. Xena and Gabrielle

3. Kira Nerys and Odo

4. Han and Leia

Bonus: swanqueen

Tagging sin pressure: @asassydork , @castle-of-ruin @aalizazareth

#there’s been a Taylor and Mira fic marinating in my brain since 2011 #idk when I’ll ever write it but I think about them often #favorite ships #mine is giving like older/younger #military #black woman love interest 😭#and time or space travel #crash landing on you is the most beautiful and emotional k drama I have ever seen #PEAK romance

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handsome-edvard · 1 month

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3rd grader jokes to brighten your day

Translation

What did one 10 say to the other 10? Come over here.

A play on words. Veinte means “twenty” and sounds the same as Ven te, which means “come here”

What did one 0 say to the other 0? We are nothing.

#pls #they think they are so funny lmao #I mean they are 😂 ngl we were dying together #they are just 🥹🥹 so adorable I can’ttttt #personal

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handsome-edvard · 1 month

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GUYS

Luna's Kinktober: I See You

(1.6K) | Miles Quaritch x f!reader | NSFW 18+

Summary - You watch Quaritch in the shower and enjoy the view loud enough for him to notice.

Main Masterlist link

Kinktober masterlist

Warnings: Voyeurism, unprotected PIV, creampie, soft Quaritch?

A/N: Follow up to “The Space between Two Notes”. This is a lot more like Plot with Porn. I'm not mad if you skip it. It's mostly for me anyway.

However, if you do continue:

Don’t worry, babe. You’re a lot more graceful here than IRL. I promise: I won’t let you trip. I wanted to say you wouldn’t fall, but we’re all falling for this man. I don’t make the rules.

And listen, his line about coffee to share? Just ignore that if it’s weird for you. That’s entirely for me.

Tagging by request: @pandoraslxna

You wake up to a soaked, throbbing, swollen pussy.

You fully intend to finish what Quaritch started yesterday, but a glance at the clock tells you you only have ten minutes before you have to be at the muster drill. You peel wet panties off your body and change. Then you race to the field.

Sunday 1830 hrs and 50 seconds

You put your hand out to knock on the door to Quaritch’s Quarters.

You pull your hand back.

You’re not asking for entree.

This was the deal. You’re on time. You’re here. You chose this. Whether you want to admit it or not, some part of you wants this, wants him. In fact, that part of you has been pretty insistent all day.

You open the door and walk inside.

He’s sitting in the easy chair. He looks up from his book.

He glances at the clock on the wall behind you to see the minute hand shift to 1831.

A wry smirk falls across his lips.

“Good girl,” he stays where he is. “Get undressed and get on the bed.”

You stalk toward him. Swinging one leg across in front of the other. You pull your shirt over your head as you walk. You unbutton and unzip, you turn in front of him, facing away. You bend forward and pull your panties and pants down in one smooth motion, offering him a glimpse of your puffy, glistening lips. You stand up and walk to the bed. Your bra is the last thing to go. You tilt your hips and spread your legs wide as you crawl on all fours onto the bed.

You don’t hear him get up. You don’t hear him cross the room in just three strides. You only feel his enormous warm body cage you in.

He runs a finger along your slit. He runs his tongue along your ear.

“Good girls get a choice,” he murmurs. Your body tenses and you rock back against him. His cock is beginning to tent his pants.

“How do you want it first? Fingers, mouth, or cock?”

You turn beneath him. You look at his face, really look at him.

His mouth is relaxed. The crows feet around his eyes seem softer, shallower than they had seemed before. He carries heavy tension between his eyebrows.

He notices your eyes as they cast over the scars on his face.

“If you don’t choose, we’re gonna miss the one at 1900 that I promised you.”

“Mouth,” you decide. “I want your mouth,” your answer spills out in a rush.

“Well alright then,” he almost smiles. For the seconds it takes him to get down your body you wonder what it would take to make him smile. Then his mouth is on your cunt and time and thoughts stop.

Monday 0430 hrs

Quaritch’s alarm goes off.

You give a whining moan, and roll and stretch. Your tits slide from under the covers and Quaritch takes the time to suck one into his mouth and then the other. You arch your back offering him more.

His voice is low and gravelly with the hours of disuse. His groans come out as near growls.

“Go on,” he says. “Hit the shower.” He rolls you over and smacks a massive hand against your ass.

You resist the urge to pout. Instead, rocking into his hand, hoping it will slip between your legs.

Your eyes wear sex like make-up when you look at him.

He grabs your chin and you kiss the taste of your own pussy and morning breath in his mouth.

His chin and cheeks are sharp with stubble. It burns against your face.

You moan for him.

“No? OK. Don’t ever say I didn’t try to be gentlemanly.” He kisses you again and gets up. When he closes the bathroom, it bounces back open, just the slightest bit. The water turns on. You sit bolt upright in his bed. You move to the edge and reach for your bra.

You’re about to make another hasty escape when the door opens a bit more. He pokes his head out.

“If you’re going to run away again, be a doll and put on the coffee before you go?”

You throw the bra back down to the floor.

You lay back down and let your head hang off the side of the bed that’s still warm from his body. The side of the bed that you refuse to conceptualize as ‘his’, because of course it's his side. The whole fucking bed is his. You adamantly do not examine the possible inference that could be drawn by the implications of ‘his side’.

He doesn’t respond to your look. This time, he leaves the door open, more than a crack. But still not quite wide enough to be interpreted as an invitation. Curious, you walk on trembling legs toward the sound of the shower.

In the few times you’ve made use of his body, Quaritch has never really let you look at him. Touch, taste, yes, he encouraged, even demanded it. But, he’s always drawn your attention whenever he’s noticed you looking at him.

You lean naked against the doorframe while still in the hallway and watch him. He seems to be doing seven things at once. He’s got a face full of shaving cream. His toothbrush is in his mouth. He is lathering his body in that soap.

The eucalyptus, coconut, mint steam fills the room. He is obscured, but not hidden. You look at the low, nearly-flat arch of his foot, with its clean and neatly trimmed toenails, and high instep. You draw your eyes up his straight calves. His broad powerful thighs, you slowed here. There were scars criss-crossing the outside of his thighs. Whatever had attacked him, had left its mark even there. There were even the puckers of bite scarring on his hips and up his waist. You’ve had your mouth all over, you wonder how you haven’t noticed those before now. The skin of his stomach is soft and bunches into rolls along his body when he bends to rinse. You’ve seen the scars on his arms, chest and head, everyone has. He wasn’t shy about those, but for some reason the others were kept hidden, like dirty secrets.

Your hands come up to your breasts, squeezing them. One hand slips down your belly.

He puts the toothbrush down.

You run a fingertip against the crease between your outer lip and inner thigh.

He runs the razor in a short tight stroke along the side of his ear.

Your finger grazes the other thigh on its way back up your body.

He brings the razor to his jawbone.

Your finger ghosts down your seam.

He shaves around his lips.

You close your eyes and lean back, slipping a finger into your already sodden folds. Then you look at him agian.

He lifts his chin to shave his neck.

You sigh.

He finishes shaving and turns toward the sound of your breathing.

“Couldn’t wait, huh? Just had to get your hands all over my cunt?” He says, mocking.

Your fingers round the outside of your clit and you moan.

He’s out of the shower, still dripping wet. He hits you like a freight train and carries you back to the bed.

“You were such a good girl last night.”

“Fuck you,” you press your mouth against his. You jump and wrap your legs around his waist.

He grabs your legs at the knees and the even sway of his gait has your pussy pushed against his cock. He slides smoothly against your cunt, swelling against you with each step.

He drops you onto the bed, pins your wrists over your head with one hand and lets the other take up your folds where your hand had been just moments before.

“Goddamn that’s a juicy cunt.”

He gathers your slick on his fingers and strokes his cock a couple of times. Notched at your tight, sodden hole, he looks into your face.

He shoves his dick into you up to your kidneys.

His voice is low and hard when he says, “you didn’t put the coffee on either did you.”

“You said to do that if I was gonna run away. I didn’t run away.”

He makes a noise deep in the back of his throat and nods. He pulls out of you slowly and shoves back into you.

The muscles in your back spasm and bow your spine.

“Fuck, that’s good pussy.”

He hits you deep against that spot, bruises your cervix, rolls back from you again. The tilt in your hips has your clit meeting with his pubic bone at the peak of every thrust.

"Oh, fuck," he grits out between clenched teeth.

Your toes curl in on your feet.

The wet meaty smack of your hips meeting on the bed puckers your nipples. He grabs one of the hardened peaks and pinches it.

“Alright, Mama. Go ahead.”

Your cunt clenches around him.

He lays his body down pressed entirely against yours.

His teeth dig into your shoulder, your earlobe.

“You soak this cock like a good girl and I’ll make enough coffee to share.”

“Oh, fuck,” you pant.

The tightly coiling pleasure breaks and washes out cresting through your nipples, your clit.

You moan.

He doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t wait it out. He pounds into you harder, more recklessly. Grunting and moaning, his thrusts lose rhythm.

You whine.

He fills you to the brim.

He’s still panting when he looks at his watch. He slides out of you.

Despite yourself, you feel the loss like an ache.

“Take your coffee black?” he asks.

#frothing at the mouth actually if we’re being accurate #the way my eyebrows rose so high they fell off #i know quaritch rearranged reader’s guts all the WAY! 😭🫡🧎‍♀️#avatar smut #miles quaritch x reader

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